favourite hunters, past and present, fill up the hours that intervene between dinner and the period of retiring to bed; unless cards or dice are introduced, to diversify this rational mode of whiling away the drowsy hours. Many of the chasseurs at Melton are as little partial to hunting as those who frequent the Highland moors are to grouse-shooting. The truth of this assertion is best proved by the joyous alacrity with which, the moment a frost sets in, they rush up to London, like boys released from school, and plunge into all the amusements and dissipation of the metropolis, until a thaw sends them down again, with lengthened faces and shortened purses, to renew their sport. How often is the thermometer examined with wistful eyes, and an approach to the freezing-point hailed with pleasure! You will naturally wonder why so heavy an expense as a hunting-establishment is incurred, if they who entail it on themselves like not the amusement. Fashion, ostentation, and the puerile desire of even that species of celebrity which this extravagance can acquire, furnish the inducements; added to the reflection of the utter impossibility of otherwise filling up the winter months." A GLIMPSE OF EARLY KENTUCKY LIFE. THE following is from a series of papers by Mr Washington Irving, entitled "The Early Experiences of Ralph Ringwood," which are now in the course of appearing in The Knickerbocker, the well-known American Magazine:"Bob Mosely's house was a tolerably large bark shanty, with a clap-board roof; and there were assembled all the young hunters and pretty girls of the country, for many a mile round. The young men were in their best hunting-dresses, but not one could compare with mine; and my raccoon cap, with its flowing tail, was the admiration of every body. The girls were mostly in doeskin dresses, for there was no spinning and weaving as yet in the woods, nor any need of it. I never saw girls that seemed to me better dressed; and I was somewhat of a judge, having seen fashions at Richmond. We had a hearty dinner, and a merry one; for there were Jemmy Kiel, famous for raccoon hunting, and Bob Tarleton, and Wesley Pigman, and Joe Taylor, and several other prime fellows for a frolic, that made all ring again, and laughed, that you might have heard them a mile. After dinner, we began dancing, and were hard at it, when, about three o'clock in the afternoon, there was a new arrival-the two daughters of old Simon Schultz; two young ladies that affected fashion and late hours. Their arrival had nearly put an end to all our merriment. I must go round about in my story, to explain to you how that happened. As old Schultz, the father, was one day looking in the cane-brakes for his cattle, he came upon the track of horses. He knew they were none of his, and that none of his neighbours had horses about that place. They must be stray horses, or must belong to some traveller who had lost his way, as the track led nowhere. He accordingly followed it up, until he came to an unlucky pedlar with two or three pack-horses, who had been bewildered among the cattle-tracks, and had wandered for two or three days among woods and cane-brakes, until he was almost famished. Old Schultz brought him to his house; fed him on venison, bear's meat, and hominy, and at the end of a week put him in prime condition. The pedlar could not sufficiently express his thankfulness; and when about to depart, inquired what he had to pay? Old Schultz stepped back with surprise. Stranger,' said he, you have been welcome under my roof. I've given you nothing but wild meat and hominy, because I had no better, but have been glad of your company. You are welcome to stay as long as you please; but, by zounds! if any one offers to pay Simon Schultz for food, he affronts him!' I saw immediately the danger of the case. We were a small community, and could not afford to be split up by feuds. So I stepped up to the girls, and whispered to them, 'Polly,' said I, those lockets are powerful fine, and become you amazingly; but you don't consider that the country is not advanced enough in these parts for such things. You and I understand these matters, but these people don't. Fine things like these may do very well in the old settlements, but they won't answer at the Pigeon-Roost Fork of the Muddy. You had better lay them aside for the present, or we shall have no peace.' Polly and her sister luckily saw their error; they took off the lockets, laid them aside, and harmony was restored; otherwise, I verily believe there would have been an end of our community. Indeed, notwithstanding the great sacrifice they made on this occasion, I do not think old Schultz's daughters were ever much liked afterward among the young women. This was the first time that looking-glasses were ever seen in the Green River part of Kentucky!" A LANDLORD'S SPEECH TO HIS TENANTS. "I rejoice to find myself in the midst of my tenants. The cordial reception I have met with amongst you, and your kindness in coming here this day, both tend to rivet the link that naturally unites us, and equally tend to an increase of that interest which I am disposed to take in you as part of my family, and as my friends. I have said before, and I cannot say it too often, that no separate interest can subsist between landlord and tenant. If you thrive, I thrive. On your well doing will depend my comfort, my honour, and my character, for I shall stand high, or the reverse (and it is right that it should be so), as I act justly or unjustly by you. Entertaining such sentiments, my first duties will consist in an encouragement of moral and religious feeling amongst my tenants, and a gradual improvement of my estates. The most likely way to make them happy and good is to teach them when young to know right from wrong, and that can only be effectually done by education. Whenever, therefore, I can encourage good and moral feeling, you will find me anxious to do so; and, as the best means of effecting it, I will willingly contribute to the improvement or increase of schools to be open to all, so that every child on my estate may be brought to know his God and the duty he owes him. The next object of my solicitude will consist in an encouragement of improved agriculture. The first of all improvements consists in draining and enclosing. My tenants will, therefore, find me willing to assist them in both, in as far as my means will admit of. In the best cultivated districts in Scotland, sheep stock is universally encouraged. I observe in the Stair leases that the tenants are in general precluded from having such stock. I am willing, where it is advisable, to alter such clauses. I have my doubts, too, whether the growth of turnips is sufficiently attended to in this county. In order, therefore, to encourage an improved system of agriculture, and to create a little emulation, I, as President of the Agricultural Society, promised two premiums of L.20 and L.10 for the best managed farms in the Rhinns district. These two prizes The pedlar admired the hospitality of his host, but apply to the county in general, so you will have your could not reconcile it to his conscience to go away with- chance for them along with others. But in my private out making some recompense. There were honest Simon's capacity, I feel I may give a few smaller prizes amongst two daughters, two strapping, red-haired girls. He my own tenants, without injury to, or interfering with, opened his packs, and displayed riches before them of the society. I propose, therefore, giving for the best which they had no conception; for in those days there kept fences on a farm, not under 100 acres, thorn or beech were no country stores in those parts, with their artificial being preferred to any other fence, where circumstances finery and trinketry, and this was the first pedlar that allow of them-1st prize, L.10; 2d prize, L.5. To the had wandered into that part of the wilderness. The tenant who makes the most and the best drains-1st girls were for a time completely dazzled, and knew not prize, L.10; 2d prize, L.5. To the tenant who has, in what to choose; but what caught their eyes most were well-cleaned and well-manured turnips, the greatest protwo looking-glasses, about the size of a dollar, set in gilt portion of his land under tillage, not less than ten acres tin. They had never seen the like before, having used of turnips, and eating off at least one-half of them with no other mirror than a pail of water. The pedlar pre- sheep-1st prize, L.10; 2d prize, L.5. To the neatest sented them these jewels without the least hesitation; and best kept cottage and cottage garden on the estate nay, he gallantly hung them round their necks by red-L.5. And to the tenant who shows most activity in ribands almost as fine as the glasses themselves. This getting in his harvest-1st prize, L.10; 2d prize, L.5. done, he took his departure, leaving them as much asto- (Prolonged cheering.) I will allow you to choose your nished as two princesses in a fairy tale that have received own judges, so that any three or five, along with Mr a magic gift from an enchanter. Guthrie, may judge of and award the prizes. But I will give no prize to any tenant who burns his wreck (I mean the weeds gathered off the fallow land), which I observed was much done when I was here in the spring. Wreck, when carted and put into heaps, forms, when mixed with lime, the best of all composts; or, when first gathered, if put at the bottom of a muck-hill, it will greatly increase the quantity of manure; but to burn it is absolute waste; and, for myself, I would as soon think of burning straw. I said that I wished to see my tenants comfortable and happy. I hope I may be permitted further to say that I shall have a pride in seeing them independent. (Great cheering.) Whatever is due to me, I shall expect them to pay-whatever is not due, I will never exact. Whenever, therefore, they are called upon In a twinkling all the young hunters gathered round to exercise their political privileges, I wish them to do so old Schultz's daughters. I, who knew what looking-honestly and manfully-not allowing themselves to be glasses were, did not budge. Some of the girls who sat dictated to by me, were I disposed to attempt it, but near me were excessively mortified at finding themselves only asking how their consciences bid them vote-being thus deserted. I heard Peggy Pugh say to Sally Pigman, assured that he who obeys his conscience will never disGoodness knows, it's well Schultz's daughters is got please me. I should feel degraded myself were I comthem things round their necks, for it's the first time the pelled to vote one way, while my known opinions were in young men crowded round them!' another; and I shall never attempt to inflict upon you It was with these looking-glasses, hung round their necks as lockets by ribands, that old Schultz's daughters made their appearance at three o'clock in the afternoon at the frolic of Bob Mosely's, on the Pigeon-Roost Fork of the Muddy. By the powers, but it was an event! Such a thing had never before been seen in Kentucky. Bob Tarleton, a strapping fellow, with a head like a chestnut-burr, and a look like a boar in an apple orchard, stepped up, caught hold of the looking-glass of one of the girls, and gazing at it for a moment, cried out, Joe Taylor, come here! come here! I'll be darn'd if Patty Schultz aint got a locket that you can see your face in, as clear as in a spring of water!' what would prove humbling to myself. I believe the poorest voter has his own notions of what is good and right as deeply implanted in him as I have; and it is by allowing him to act up to his honest feelings that he is to be made a happier and a better, a more prosperous and a more thriving man. This is a subject on which I have thought much, and it is one on which I have had experience. Reflection shows me that my system is just, and experience shows me that it is politic, though I never think of it in that light myself; for, whilst tenauts may be led by kindness and consideration, I have always seen that the devil himself won't drive them, and I like them all the better for it." ANTIDOTES FOR POISONS. When poison has been swallowed, ascertain from the patient what the nature of the poison is. If mineral, that is, either corrosive sublimate or arsenic, give a teaspoonful of sulphur, or half a teaspoonful of pearl-ash, or a wine glass of soap-suds; afterwards give a teaspoonful of antimonial wine, and plenty of warm water. If vegetable, or oil of vitriol, aquafortis, or oxalic acid, give pearl-ash, or chalk, or magnesia or soap-suds, in plenty of warm water, with a dessert spoonful of antimonial wine, or a scruple of simple powder of ipecacuanha. If laudanum, give a teaspoonful of domestic mustard, and keep the patient walking. If carbonic acid, or fumes of charcoalopen air, keep the body cool; medical aid is required.— Newspaper paragraph. "CHRONOMOROS." "In all the actions that a man performs, some part of his life passeth. We die with doing that for which only our sliding life was granted. Nay, though we do nothing, Time keeps his con- Wearied with hearing folks cry There is not a labour more vain, And I could not the trial maintain, As they fell, grain after grain, And the sun-dial hid with a cloak! And I found, to my cost and my pain, One link in an infinite chain, The sun for a Time once stood still! For Time's scythe is going amain, We mark our own steps in the train, MORAL. Masters! we live here for ever, And now that I've ended my strain, [The above appears amongst the original poetry in the new volume of a tastefully conducted annual work, Fulcher's Ladies Memorandum-Book and Poetical Miscellany; published by G. W. Fulcher, Sudbury; and Suttaby & Co., London.] LONDON: Published, with permission of the proprietors, by W. S. ORR, Paternoster Row. Printed by Bradbury and Evans, Whitefriars. CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE," "CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE," &c. NUMBER 463. A FEW WEEKS FROM HOME. VISIT TO CANTERBURY. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 12, 1840. He who visits Kent, and does not make a pilgrimage to Canterbury, is no true lover of antiquity. The memory of St Augustine and St Thomas-à-Becket, it is to be feared, he cares nothing for; and, to say the least of it, the scenes immortalised by Chaucer and Shakspeare can have no influence on his fancy. Now, that kind of heresy is not to my mind. I can be as commonplace and utilitarian as you please, but still have a corner of the mind to spare on the existing memorials of past events-things which elevate the range of the imagination, and harmlessly delight the feelings. Come, then, let us wend across the downs and along the bosky avenues which lead towards Canterbury. Let us see the spot, and the actual objects in stone and mortar, which, five hundred years ago, attracted the reverence of thousands of pilgrims. Let us visit the sepulchre of Augustine, and the shrine of Becket! Things have greatly altered in Kent since Falstaff proposed to set out for Gad's Hill, and there make an onslaught on the caravans of pilgrims who were "going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and the traders riding to London with fat purses." The truth of the matter is, that what with good macadamised roads, stage-coaches, and railways, the country stands a fair chance of being stripped of every bit of romance. Will it be credited ?-the far-famed Cliff at DoverShakspeare's Cliff-is now perforated with a railway tunnel! Soon we shall be whisked in no time from the Borough to the Straits of Dover, and the towers of Canterbury will be passed at the rate of forty miles an hour. Such are modern improvements. No man has the comfort of now being robbed on his journey, let him wish for it ever so much. Falstaff and Prince Hal did not live in the age of locomotives. With the sad reflection that we live in the nineteenth century, and have not the privilege of being kicked and cuffed as we should have been three or four centuries ago, let us take things as they happen to be. Here is an omnibus moving off from Ramsgate to Canterbury. One of the pilgrims is a good, dear, kind old soul-a lady who has at least attained the shady side of sixty-probably a widow: well, so much the better, we are sure to have an agreeable chat together. "This is a fine evening, ma'am, for a journey; few passengers, though: do you go all the way?" "Oh dear, yes, sir; I am returning to one of my homes at Canterbury: it will be quite pleasant on the road, I am sure, the sun is sinking so very beautifully in the west-very so, indeed." "Then you have more than one home?" "Oh dear, yes, sir; I have a house in Ramsgate and a house in Canterbury, and I just make myself happy, sometimes in the one and sometimes in the other." "But that must be very troublesome, I should think-you must travel a great deal." "Oh dear, yes, sir; but I like travelling very much, and I never allow any thing to vex me." "Perhaps you don't travel with much luggage-only some trifle, such as that basket." "Oh dear, sir, that basket is my bird's travelling carriage; that I always carry on my knee." "Your bird! do you always travel with your bird?" "Oh dear, yes, sir; I could not go any where without my poor little Dicky; and he is very fond of travelling also." "What sort of a bird is he? -probably a parrot." "Oh dear, no, sir; he is a lark." "A lark, for all the world! is he not inclined to fly up against the roof of his carriage, or disposed to pine with the close imprisonment?" "Oh dear, no, sir; he is the nicest, quietest, and best-behaved of birds. Sometimes, poor little creature, when he catches a PRICE THREE HALFPENCE. has been suffered to stand, and there are numerous signs of advancing taste; still, the place is essentially antique, with all kinds of outs and ins, strangely shaped windows and roofs, and the same confined thoroughfares which existed centuries ago. Boring your way through an alley from what may be called the chief street, you reach the precincts of the grand ecclesiastical structure, round which the town has gradually crept as if for protection. Let us pause for an instant, to run over the primary history of the edifice. It is probably not very generally known, that England once formed a favourite field for rearing slaveswhite ones, of course-for the markets of Southern Europe, in the same manner as Kentucky now produces that article of commerce for some of the adjacent states of America. A parcel of English slaves having, about the year 596, been carried to Rome and there exposed for sale, Gregory, the reigning Pope, was inspired with sorrow and concern for their appearance, and formed the design of converting their countrymen to the Christian faith. It is indisputable that Christianity was known in some parts of Britain before this period, but it had no existence throughout the southern part of the island, and therefore the design of this benevolent prelate is worthy of the highest commendation. Gregory dispatched Augustine with forty Benedictine monks to Christianise England; and having fortunately gained over Ethelbert, King of Kent, to their views, the object of their mission was accomplished. Great numbers were converted and baptised; and Ethelbert, in token of his piety, gave up his palace in Canterbury to St Augustine. At the same time, the king retired to a residence which he built at Reculver, a small remaining portion of which, consisting of a postern gateway of red brick, may still be observed by the tourist. The palace at Canterbury and adjoin glimpse of daylight through the covering, he will give a bit of a fly; but, you know, sir, I have lined the roof of the basket with a matting of fine wool, and he has a nice fresh turf, cut from the Downs, for a floor to stand upon; and so, you see, sir, he cannot hurt himself. I have travelled six hundred miles with Dicky this season, and, the good creature, he has never uttered a murmur." "The companionship of your bird seems to give you much happiness. Perhaps you have had losses in your family, and now find a pleasure in the society of this innocent little animal." "Oh dear, sir, I have a family of five children, and two-and-twenty grandchildren, and I am the happiest woman in the world. I never knew what it was to have a single vexation. It was a great trial, to be sure, when my daughter married and went to India; however, I said to myself, says I, what is the use of repining? Every thing is ordered for the best. There is a superintending Providence in India as well as in England. And so, when I thought of this, I was quite happy. It is always right to be happy, whatever takes place." "Well, that's good philosophy, at all events. I hope you have had the pleasure of seeing your daughter return?" "Oh dear, yes, sir; she has now been back for three years and two months: and I see her, as well as all my other children, very often, and my dear little grandchildren too; and I am as happy as the day is long." "That's very delightful; I wish every body could say as much. Pray, may I ask if Dicky is equally contented with his lot?" "Oh dear, yes, sir. Dicky and I are old friends. 1 purchased him at Maidstone four years ago next Easter, and he is quite domesticated-quite : he was a mere infant, as I may say, when I got him, and he does not care for being any where but with me. Poor little fellow [peeping into the travelling carriage on her lap, and addressing Dicky], there's a good dearing buildings were afterwards converted by St AugusDicky. You will soon be home in your pretty cage at Canterbury; and you will see the sun rising in the morning over the trees of the Danejohn, and then you may sing as loudly as you please. Poor dear Dicky !" Such was the good old soul who formed one of our travelling companions, and whose odd kind of attachment to her feathered companion formed a topic of conversation during our journey across the wolds of Kent. The country as you advance improves in appearance. The farms are large and seemingly well cultivated, and occasionally we pass through a neat oldfashioned village, with a church and churchyard embowered in tall and broad-spreading trees. The district is that in which the madman Thom committed his extravagances a few years ago-a circumstance reflecting little credit on the common sense of its inhabitants, who, however, I am disposed to think, are not more ignorant than the bulk of the rural population of England, and in regard to exterior decency and love of cleanliness, are infinitely superior to the most intelligent of the Scottish peasantry. As respects physical qualifications, "the men of Kent" have been long noted for their superiority. Canterbury, which we reached after a ride of a few hours, is a town of great antiquity, and like York, to which it bears a resemblance, consists of a cluster of confused and narrow streets of brick houses, in the centre of which rise the lofty towers of the cathedral. The situation is upon a plain of limited dimensions, or, strictly speaking, in the vale of the small river Stour, which passes through it, and at the distance of two or three miles is environed with moderately high hills of considerable fertility and beauty. Canterbury partakes in a large degree of the unchangeful character of every thing English. The walls, it is true, are removed; only one gateway, a huge machicolated mass, tine into a cathedral and priory, dedicating both to the honour of Christ. St Augustine also procured means to found a magnificent abbey in another part of the town or suburbs; but as the institution was suppressed in 1539, and the edifice is now a ruin, or devoted to secular purposes, no more need here be said regarding it. The main object of interest in the present day is the cathedral, which has undergone so many alterations and extensions in the course of time, as to partake of a singularly mixed character, though exteriorly appearing as a work in the rich Gothic of the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Its first great restoration was accomplished by Lanfranc, the archbishop who was appointed by William the Conqueror. Hav ing found it in a ruinous condition, the result of a disastrous fire in the year 1097, he pulled down the greater part of the building, and began its re-erection with arches of a bolder sweep and columns of more elegant proportions. The work was carried on under the direction of Prior Conrad, and during the prelacy of Anselm, successor to Lanfranc. The taste and ability of the architects appear to have excited the wonder of their contemporaries. "Nothing similar," according to William of Malmsbury, "was to be found in England, either for the brilliancy of the painted windows, the splendour of the marble pavement, or the pictured roof, which attracted the eyes of beholders." In less than a century after the installation of Lanfranc, the archbishopric was bestowed on Thomas-àBecket (1162). The cathedral now became the scene of an event which may be said to have been the making of Canterbury. We allude to Becket's assassination. Henry II., it will be remembered, had little difficulty in restraining the powers of the barons, and of preserving peace generally among his lay subjects; but in attempting to abridge the exorbitant privileges of the clergy, he was resolutely opposed, and by none more so than Thomas-à-Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, who considered the priesthood to be justly exempt from all civil restraint. Some of Henry's courtiers thought they could not do him a better service than to rid him of this annoyance, and accordingly seized an opportunity of cutting down Becket while engaged in the offices of religion at an altar in his own cathedral (Dec. 22, 1170). For his concern in this foul transaction, Henry, as well known to the reader of history, had to perform a humiliating penance, receiving eighty lashes on his bare back from the monks of Canterbury. While the murder of Becket was still fresh in the public remembrance, the cathedral was again (1174) consumed by fire; but this proved rather a fortunate circumstance than otherwise, for the prior and clergy levied such exorbitant offerings from the zealots who crowded to the scene of Becket's murder, as enabled them to rebuild and vastly extend the edifice, on a scale of singular magnificence. Their main design seems to have been the extension of the church to the eastward, elevating the floor of the new part considerably above that of the rest of the building; they also added several parasitic chapels in this quarter to the main edifice. Beneath the elevated part, which is reached by flights of steps from the choir, and was intended for the site of the high altar, they constructed a series of low vaulted chapels or apartments, entered by a side door, and which are now called the undercroft. After the completion of the alterations, and when fitted up with all the splendours of Catholic worship, the spectacle from the centre of the nave on the west must have been beyond conception imposing. To add to the effect, and excite the devotional feelings of the multitudes who thronged to the cathedral from all parts of the country, the bones of Becket were removed from their resting-place in the vault to which they had originally been consigned, and placed in a shrine on an esplanade at the top of the highest flight of steps adjacent to the grand altar, and therefore in a convenient situation for being seen and visited. The scene of enshrinement, which is open around, and is really a beautiful aisle or chapel, in some measure detached from the choir, was henceforth called Becket's crown. The translation of the remains of St Thomas, as he was now entitled, took place on the 7th of July 1220; the occasion was one of extraordinary solemnity and rejoicings-the pope's legate, the archbishops of Canterbury and Rheims, and various bishops and abbots, carrying the coffin on their shoulders, and the king (Henry III.) attending, to grace the ceremony with his presence. The expense attending this ceremony was immense; for one thing, the archbishop provided refreshments, with provender for horses, along the line of road from London, a distance of fifty-six miles, for all who chose to attend. Artificial fountains were dispersed about the city of Canterbury, which ran with wine, and nothing was wanting to give full effect to this triumph of priestly power. The upper part of Becket's skull, which had been severed by his murderers, was preserved by itself on the highly decorated altar. According to the fashion of the time, pilgrimages were now made from all parts of Christendom to the shrine of St Thomas at Canterbury, and the offerings formed a princely revenue to the establishment. Besides these custo are ushered into the ambulatory of the cloisters-a walk with groined arches overhead, and open on the inner sides to a grass plot, in which repose the mortal remains of numerous friars and monks who fretted their little hour within the precincts of the hallowed domain. Altogether, the cathedral, whether taken as a whole or in detail, is a work of exceeding grandeur, and with exquisite beauty of form, possesses a profound historical interest. As a relic of the past, independently of its value as a specimen of highly finished Gothic architecture, it is unquestionably, along with all similar structures, worthy of national preservation. As respects its service to religion and morality, it may be pronounced absolutely useless-the neighbouring district, as has been proved, being no more the better for its existence than if it were an empty ruin. lish cathedrals, and the keepers of these structures At the conclusion of the service, I was conducted along the floor towards the flights of steps, at the head of which once blazed the high altar, in all the splendour of silver, gold, and precious stones. This inner of distinguished bishops and other churchmen, in a portion of the choir is lined with various monuments wonderfully good state of preservation, considering the handling they must have undergone. By a side door we are conducted round to Becket's crown, which, as I have said, is a kind of circular chapel adjoining the extremity of the choir. This is the most beautiful point in the whole building. The light graceful pillars, roof, the windows of painted glass in the aisles beyond, in pairs, supporting the Gothic arches above, the lofty and the tessellated pavement where once stood the shrine of St Thomas, form a spectacle at once impressive and deeply interesting. The costly shrine of Becket has, as may be supposed, been completely cleared away, and the inlaid floor is free from all the exception of a hollow, worn in the marble, as it is trace of having once been the scene of concourse, with said, by the kneeling of hosts of pilgrims. mary gifts of the pious, the clergy drew an incredibly ONE FAULT. A NOVEL under this title, by Mrs Trollope, was published about a year ago, and no doubt enjoyed its share of popularity amongst novel-readers. We are not of this class; but having been almost accidentally made acquainted with "One Fault," we have found in it so much of a useful and instructive tendency, that we would fain bring it under the notice of that portion of the public who, like ourselves, are little accustomed to peruse works of fiction, and may therefore not as yet have seen the work in question. The book opens with the description of a rector's beautiful parts of Somersetshire. It consisted of Mr family of amiable character, residing in one of the most and Mrs Worthington, two daughters, Margaret and Isabella, just arrived at womanhood, and a son, Charles, as yet only a youth of sixteen. Two unmarried sisters of Mrs Worthington, Christina and Lucy Clark, the former an eccentric blue-stocking, and the latter a gentle and kind-hearted woman, lived upon a small income at Appleton, two miles from the rectory. A young friend of Charles, named Alfred Reynolds, a student at Winchester, and the son of a widow of honour, in his present circumstances, to make her narrow fortune, loved Isabella, but possessed too much aware of the fact. She was just completing her eighteenth year, a sweet sylph-like creature, with the finest dark hair and eyes in the world, and dispositions of so delightful a kind as rendered her the favourite of her whole family, and particularly that of an aged uncle of her father, a Colonel Seaton, who for many years had lived at the rectory. There was nothing in the characters of these personages to distinguish them from the mass of society of their own grade. They only come under our notice in consequence of a connexion which they formed with the great landlord of their neighbourhood, Mr Wentworth. This gentleman possessed an ample for reputation. When, in consequence of seeing Isabella tune, was young and handsome, and bore an unsullied at a county ball, he called upon Mr Worthington, and asked leave to pay his addresses to her, the family regarded her as a singularly fortunate creature ; and she was herself gratified beyond hope, for she had also admired Mr Wentworth, and was already prepossessed in his favour. After the most generous settlements, the marriage took place, and Isabella was all at once transferred from obscurity to the possession of Oakton Park, one of the most magnificent mansions in the county. from Calais to that city was passed over without IsaThe young pair procceded to Paris. The dull road bella feeling that it was in the least a grievance. "It was the delight of believing that she was beloved; it was the sweet sensation of warm and tender gratitude to the companion whose love had surrounded her with thought of the happiness she should take back to the so many joy-creating circumstances; it was the *3 vols. Bentley. 1840. dear home she had left, when she returned to tell them of the wonders she had seen and the delight she had felt; it was this that made her endure the toilsome way so cheerfully." The morning after their arrival, the gay-spirited girl looked out with rapture upon the gardens of the Tuileries, and expressed the utmost eagerness to go abroad; but her husband coldly interposed. He must first send cards to the embassy, and go to secure seats for the opera. She good-humouredly proposed to amuse herself in the interval, by looking out at the window; but this also he disapproved of, as exposing her to the gaze of every body. Then she said she would ensconse herself in the corner of the sofa, so that " no one should penetrate the secret of her existence till his return." The least approach to a joke displeased Mr Wentworth, and something, not exactly a frown, but a general darkening of the countenance, was the consequence; but she did not happen to see it, and was still happy. While he was away, she wrote a long letter full of high spirits to her parents. He returned, uneasy from being disappointed of seats, and, when he saw her five or six scribbled pages, he suspected that she might have repeated her joke as to her ensconcement from the vulgar gaze. Matters, however, afforded no room for an outbreak of spleen, until, he having rung the bell to order the carriage, that he might drive her to a fashionable hair-dresser, she unluckily said, "Mr Wentworth, had not James better carry my letter to Lord G ** *'s before he comes round with the carriage?" This fairly overset her husband's already displeased mind; and, "What can your letter contain, Isabella," said he, "of such extreme importance as to render it necessary to destroy all the arrangements I have made for the morning-and that, too, only in order that it may reach the embassy so very many hours before the post goes out? Do just as you please, however. Never mind about the carriage, James. Take this letter to the English embassy. You remember where to find it, I suppose." Vexed and slightly frightened, the lady beseeched him never to do what she asked, when he did not quite approve of it himself. But-" I have no wish to be a tyrant, Isabella," replied he gravely. “You must use your own judgment upon all ordinary occasions," &c. He then abruptly went out, and spent the forenoon moodily in the Champs Elysées, while the young wife remained in the hotel, bewailing the ignorance which had caused her so greatly to offend her husband. In the evening, she enjoyed the performances at the Théâtre Français much too heartily for his grave and haughty taste. But the admiration excited by her beauty reconciled him, for her beauty was what had caused him to stoop to her rank, and he delighted to see its power acknowledged by others. "On the whole, Isabella, after nearly a fortnight's sojourn, would, if questioned on the subject, have been ready to declare herself very happy. And yet the countenance which she daily studied with more and more anxiety, was occasionally obscured by a cloud, whose cause she was unable to explain; but she still took it for granted that it must arise from some ignorance or deficiency in herself. Watchfully, most watchfully, did she labour to discover wherein she had failed, whenever an air of cold stiffness took place of the fond gallantry which still distinguished her husband's demeanour towards her; and thankfully would she have welcomed any remonstrance that might have helped her to become any thing and every thing he wished. But nothing beyond an occasional blighting, though silent, look of estrangement, had yet occurred to give her the first lesson on the instability of human happiness; and more than once, when her young heart was heavy within her, she hardly knew why, she endeavoured to accuse herself of caprice and exigence, rather than conceive it possible that the man she so earnestly desired to believe perfect was out of humour without a cause." They frequented the salons of a gay English resident, Mrs Clifton Darville, and there Isabella shone for the time as a brilliant novelty. One evening, seated on a sofa, she became the centre of the general conversation, every one delighting in the naïveté with which she defended Shakspeare from the derogatory remarks of Voltaire. Wentworth, naturally shy and uncondescending, and never forgetting what might be thought of the comparatively recent rise of his family, was carried beyond common bounds by the éclat which attended his wife, and was induced to say to the Duc de B****, who was contending with her for the superiority of the Merope to Coriolanus, "Let me challenge you to make a party with my young wife to decide this question-come and pay us a visit at my London mansion next spring, and I will undertake that Coriolanus shall be played to you." The Duc was hanging at the moment on some words of Mrs Wentworth, and did not on the instant reply. Wentworth, thinking himself insulted, coloured to the temples, and led his wife from the room, in a state of agitation not to be described. As they drove home, he did not fail to make her participate in his own anguish, and announced his intention of returning to England on the morrow. She retired to rest, with a spirit deeply wounded, and sadly in contrast with the splendours which surrounded her. Next day, amongst other preparations for departure, it was necessary to write apologies to various parties with whom they had engagements. Mr Wentworth imposed this duty upon his wife, who was ill qualified for it, not being accustomed to devise fair excuses. When he found she had only stated that they were about to leave Paris, he remarked that her notes would appear cold, and, struggling with ill-suppressed anger, he required her again to sit down to her desk. She did so with her usual cheerful obedience, but had to ask him what she should say. He dictated an apology, in which the sudden arrival of letters of importance from England was represented as the cause of their departure. Half supposing him in jest, she said, "But I cannot say that, Marmaduke, for it is not true." A frantic burst of wrath was the consequence. "Leave me!" he cried,.. "leave me, if you please. I have not been accustomed at any period from childhood to the present hour to be treated with indignity." She started from her place as he spoke, like a frightened fawn, and, seeking refuge in her chamber, sunk on her knees and burst into tears. The lovely bright-souled Isabella was now fully aware of the character of the man to whom she had united herself, and feared too truly that misery must be her future lot. Isabella readily traced in his countenance the slight rigidity which denoted displeasure. To add to the mishap, it was ten minutes after the dinner hour be fore she reached the drawing-room at Oakton, where she found her husband in a stiff and silent mood, though perfectly polite. The dinner passed without softening his feelings, and when she had drunk one glass of wine, he said to her, "Do you make a habit of sitting long after dinner, Mrs Wentworth?' Oh, no!-I am quite ready to go,' she replied, rising; upon which he darted to the door, and having opened it for her, bowed gravely as she passed." While she sat dispirited in the drawing-room, she received a second letter from her husband, written as before from a neighbouring apartment. He began smoothly-lamented the necessity of finding fault, but took credit for the sense of duty under which he acted, and the certainty that he could never say any thing ungentlemanlike to her. He then adverted to the disgust with which he had been filled two hours before by finding one of his carriages used as a stage-coach. "Can I ever forget the close-packed female heads, obtruded, amidst unseemly bursts of laughter, to enjoy the waggeries of the outside passenger who sat beside the coachman ?" A lecture followed on Isabella's being late at dinner; and, after lacerating her feelings by the most cutting remarks on those dearest to her, he concluded by calling upon her to prove that she appreciated his "delicacy and kindness," by meeting him at coffee as sweetly serene and as tenderly affectionate as he could wish. She wished to obey the behest, but natural feeling broke out at his approach in the words "Oh Marmaduke-I do so dearly love my father!" This overset his whole plan of operations; and "Leave me, madam, leave me, if you please!" sounded in her ears. She could not this time, but, seizing and kissing his hand, beseeched forgiveness. The humility soothed him, and he condescended to bend forward his lofty head and kiss her forehead. "Do not abuse my excessive tenderness,' he said, but henceforward receive all I say as you ought to do. You are forgiven !' and again he kissed her." She sought to relieve her mind by taking an interest in the arrangements for the journey, but, after an hour or two had elapsed, received a letter from her husband, written from a neighbouring room. Wentworth, it must be observed, was one who never supposed he could himself be wrong. His native pride had been fostered by vicious education; he had been accustomed to exercise his will in every thing, to admit of no opposition in his domestic circle, and to charge upon others the faults of which he acquitted himself. At the same time, he was most scrupulous to observe all the external decorums required of a gentleman, and while expressing the most cutting things, never used an uncivil phrase. His letter reminded her of the inferiority of her station and education, which, he said, rendered her ignorant of the observance a high-bred gentleman required in all who approached him. It was his duty to remedy this deficiency by pointing out her errors, and he hoped she would be a docile scholar. He called upon her above all things to remember the devoted attachment he had shown to her in raising her to his own station, and hinted that he expected it to be repaid in obedience and constant endeavours to please him. When he appeared displeased, she was to understand that he must have good reasons for it. Thus lectured on her future duty, he expected her to enter the drawingroom immediately, with a smiling countenance, giving him the assurance that his admonitions had been received as they deserved. And then he concluded by signing himself her affectionate husband. Isabella could not read this paper without feeling that she was treated unjustly, and, for the first time, she was conscious of regarding her husband with a feeling allied to contempt. She had to try, nevertheless, to appear with the requisite countenance. On entering the room, she found her husband still betraying appearances of agitation; but he instantly made an effort also, and, approaching in a manner meant to be tender, said, "Kiss me, my love." Isabella hardly knew why this obliging command seemed more difficult to The nice, fastidious, and pompous nature of Wentobey than any other he could have imposed upon her. worth, sat uneasily under the infliction of the comIn half an hour after, they were on their way to Eng-pany of next day; and matters were made worse by land. Every day made her more and more fully aware that she was thenceforward to move, act, and think, only according to the imperious will of her husband. She yielded a little more than was quite agreeable to him, and the following speech was therefore pronounced one day, after he had drawn up a window in the carriage which she had just let down: "My dear love, I think the air may be too much for you. But do not scruple to object to any thing I do, that you may not happen to like;-it will in no way displease me: indeed, on the contrary, I should rather like it, as I feel great interest in discovering what your feelings and sentiments are on all subjects. And when it happens that I do not perfectly agree with you, it need produce no mortification on your part, as, of course, dearest, I shall never scruple to set you right. Ask, then, for every thing you wish, my dearest Isabella, with perfect confidence that I will never abuse the trust you have reposed in me by permitting the slightest thing that I do not perfectly approve." The morning after their return to the splendours of Oakton Park, the young wife's heart yearned to go to see her own family; but though permitted to do so, and even to give them an invitation to dinner, she was also made to feel that she must not hereafter expect to see much of them, or to see her husband pay them much courtesy. She had made up her mind, that, if possible, no word or look on her part should betray that she was disappointed with her husband. Yet they perceived that she did not look well, and old Colonel Seaton beheld her with a melancholy feeling, which he did not express, and no one thought of penetrating. The party, excepting the colonel, accompanied her to Appleton to see Isabella's aunts, and much hilarity prevailed amongst them all, while the young wife sat in the midst of them, the centre, as they fondly imagined, of all their joys, yet conscious herself that a blight hung upon her, which sooner or later must spread among them all." Her carriage returned to the rectory at Abbot's Preston, filled with her friends, and her father laughingly conversing with them from the coach-box, when, to her horror, she beheld her husband approaching. The affectionate greetings of the worthy family were received with cold politeness by the severe-natured squire; and "When moralists, religionists, and philosophers of all sorts, set about reasoning on the phenomena of the world we live in, and, contemplating the mass of human misery to be found therein, trace it to all the fearful crimes that since the fall of man have found their way into the heart, they overlook one little cause of suffering, which blights more happiness, and neutralises a greater portion of God's bounteous favours, than all the other heinous enormities of our depraved race put together. This hateful, stealthy, heart-destroying blight, is often found where every thing like atrocious vice is utterly unknown, and where many of the very highest virtues flourish. Probity, liberality, temperance, observant piety, may all exist with a SOUR TEMPER; yet many a human being has been hung in chains whose justly punished deeds have not caused one-hundredth part the pain to his fellow-men which a cross temperament is sure to give." the good humour of the guests, who as yet dreamt not that Isabella was under the dominion of a tyrant. A new "waggery" of the rector made the host pale with anger; and, in the drawing-room, a free and easy address from the eccentric blue-stocking aunt, put him into a transport of rage, which, however, he took care to conceal by leaving the room. This led to a violent scene afterwards, in which the unhappy young wife was made fully aware of the disgust which Mr Wentworth felt for her humble relations. A settled sadness now took possession of her, and led to a conviction on the part of her husband that she was badtempered, for, like most such persons, he mistook the consequences of his own sourness for sourness in its wretched and disconcerted victim. This notion, strange to say, was not disagreeable to him; it fortified him in his self-acquitting habits. If A few days afterwards, the young pair received a visit from the dowager Mrs Wentworth, a heartless woman of fashion, still, comparatively speaking, young-faultlessly elegant, smooth of speech, but possessed by the most hostile spirit towards Isabella, whom she had considered as a most unsuitable match for her son. During the first evening, Wentworth pointed her out as a mirror of every grace and virtue to his wife, whom he rebuked for trifles in her presence. In some arrangements, afterwards, Isabella endeavoured to occupy the exact place in the group which the dowager thought proper to assign her; but this was not at all times an easy matter. she withheld the expression of her opinion, "You seem to care very little about it," was the observation that followed; and if she unhappily differed from her on any point, the result was much worse, being invariably finished by a remark that "any thing was better than a dispute;" while, when she pronounced a cordial approval, and agreement in opinion, all notice whatever in return was carefully avoided. There was an eternal schooling about every thing she said and did, that required more than angel patience to endure, and the slightest word displeasing to their self-esteem was set down to "her unhappy temper." The delicate and interesting situation in which she was soon after declared to be, procured her some temporary relief. Her friends were allowed to visit her in a private way in her room; and her husband was so selfishness or ignorance of particular individuals and parties. TREATMENT OF NEW IDEAS. ever endangered. She revived to the possession of an much pleased as to yield to a wish that a Mr Norris, his command in the most trivial as well as the most One day, the unhappy lady indulged for a few minutes in a conversation with her sister, the one standing in the park, and the other in Mr Norris's rectory garden. Wentworth, chancing to observe them, visited his wife immediately after with a letter, in which, amidst other severities, he spoke of placing the Norrises at a distance by withholding the presentation to the rectory. The pain of this infliction was so acute that Isabella fainted, and the premature birth of a weakly heir followed. The event procured for her some slight indulgences, but, after a proper interval, the old system of rigid subjection and suffering was resumed. Her simplest acts and words were interpreted by her tyrant into symptoms of bad temper, and were punished by poignant reproaches. She placidly submitted to all, fearful lest any genuine mark of spirit should be employed as a reason for substituting a foster-mother to her child. To avoid having her relations present at the christening, the family was removed to London, where equal miseries OCCASIONAL NOTES. ON A WELL-KNOWN COUPLET. DR JOHNSON, in the lines which he added to the "How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure." This sentiment is sometimes quoted as the expression GOOD AND BAD IN THE SAME CHARACTER. Many are highly estimable in one relation to their fellow-creatures, and not in another. For instance, present any unfortunate, or feeble, or depressed per son to their consideration, and they will be untiring in the exercise of benevolence towards that person. But present to their consideration any person of superior qualities or in superior circumstances to their own, and they immediately appear as if the spirit of malice were in undisputed possession of them. This alternation between benevolence and its opposite is ruled by self-esteem. In the first case, the selfesteem is pleased in contemplating an inferior; in the second, offended in regarding a superior. One character may thus appear very different to different persons-kind and genial to some, and bitter and malignant to others; as the shield was thought to be gold by the gentleman who came from the west, and silver by the gentleman who came from the east. It is needless to remark that so very bad a fault as envy cannot be palliated by the exhibition in the same character, towards other objects, of any amount of benevolence. THE LEARNED PROFESSIONS. We have been informed that lately there has been a great falling-off in the number of young men who attend medical classes, with a view to the profession of the surgeon or physician. Some professors have not above a half, and others two-thirds, of their former number of pupils. The number of students for altogether a gratifying piece of intelligence. The other professions is likewise diminishing. This is vanity of parents has long deluged the country with a class of persons possessing the education of gentlemen, yet without the means of respectable subsistence; in other words, there have been about ten times more there have been any demands for. We have heard it medical practitioners, lawyers, and clergymen, than stated, that in Scotland alone, there are at all times eight hundred young men ready for vacancies in church livings, although not more than twenty or thirty vacancies occur annually. attended her. She was now a thin and pale creature, great evil? Leave a people to themselves in a large colonies-all, at least, are doing something, while they city, and probably no such thing as a right sewerage the monstrousness of the error, or rather crime, which We wish we had the power to impress parents with they commit in bringing up their children to any of these learned professions, without the means of supporting them in a respectable style till they procure well as body frequently endured by young men reared settled situations in life. The sufferings in mind as ployment, are exquisite in the extreme. After years to these professions, but without any prospect of emof study, they find themselves mere hangers-on upon society. They observe their old school-fellows "getting on" in their different callings-some actively engaged in trade, and perhaps making fortunes; others are farmers in comfortable circumstances, with family rising around them; others have gone abroad, and, as they hear, occupy excellent situations in the are doing nothing. But even while doing nothing, they have to support a handsome appearance; they must live apparently well, dress well, and keep company with the set most proper to their station; and all this only by drawing on already exhausted parents, by incurring debts, or by other shifts and schemes which involve no small degree of secret suffering to the feelings. Do not let it be imagined that we could tell innumerable cases of a most heart-rending nature, which have fallen within our own limited observation. And not alone are the young men themselves blighted; their parents generally live to suffer for their folly, and to repent that they should ever have thought of rearing their son to be a gentleman, or, strictly speaking, a downdraught. the very ghost of her former self. Yet not the most faint idea ever visited the mind of her husband, that the change was solely owing to his imperious and irritable temper. One tremendous fit of passion, followed by a letter, was brought on by her saying, without the slightest tone of pique, that, if she were too ill to preside at the christening dinner, the elder Mrs by her sister, Mrs Norris, writing her a letter of dry the people will be preserved instead of destroyed. this is a fanciful picture. Were it proper to do so, Wentworth would fill her place; another was induced detail, indicating a fear that it was sure to meet his eye. The time had now come when she wished herself dead. Her distresses were, if possible, increased by his discharging an affectionate and sympathising country girl, who, since her marriage, had acted as her maid. For the sake of her health and that of her infant, they removed to Shanklin in the Isle of Wight, where a man of doubtful character, named Nutcomb, contrived to insinuate himself into the good graces of the usually reserved Wentworth, and by flattery to engage him in play. The infant now pined and died, and Isabella returned to Oakton, as a being who was not to be long in this world. Her husband, leaving her there, with strict injunctions against intercourse with her family, proceeded to London to attend his parliamentary duties; but he had not been many days in town, when an accidental meeting with Nutcomb, whom he had discovered to be a gambler by profession, and a man of base designs, led to a duel, in which Wentworth fell. The intelligence threw the already much weakened Isabella into a state of stupor, from which she was with difficulty recovered by her friends. Carried immediately to her former happy home, she was nursed back into being by the exercise of the greatest tenderness, but it was long before a conscientious feeling towards her late husband would allow her to indulge even in a tranquil cheerfulness. By wise expedients, her friends at length succeeded in re-establishing that health which nothing but mental suffering had Sce a poor widow in the midst of five young children, |